


Soft Derek, Warm Stiles, No One is a Little Ball of Fur

by tiedtogetherwithadagger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Stiles Stilinski, Barista Stiles Stilinski, Coffee Shops, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Derek is a Softie, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Sappy, Sappy Stiles Stilinski, Schmoop, TA Derek Hale, The title sounds crack-y af I know, They're all out of high school but the ages are ambiguous, so soft, soft derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedtogetherwithadagger/pseuds/tiedtogetherwithadagger
Summary: Stiles is wiping down the counters and humming California Gurls to himself when the bell above the door chimes and Derek walks in. The next notes of the song get stuck in his throat and he freezes. Stiles shouldn’t be surprised, really. The rest of the pack have already been by to visit him, even Jackson. Of course, Boyd was the only person Stiles ended up giving a free drink to, much to their disappointment. So what if he had favorites? How could he not when Boyd was the one to get him ComiCon tickets?Derek swaggers up to the counter Stiles is stationed behind, because that’s the only way Derek apparently knows how to walk. He’s wearing a maroon knitted sweater today that looks unfairly cozy. Stiles slaps his own hand down from reaching out and touching the fabric because that would be weird. Although slapping yourself might be weirder. Oh well.





	Soft Derek, Warm Stiles, No One is a Little Ball of Fur

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my amazing friends Angie and Lindsy for holding my hand through this process and letting me rant to you for hours. I love you both so much <3
> 
> I wrote this to post on my birthday as a gift to everyone but that was yesterday and I ran out of time. BUT I was originally born on Memorial Day, which is today, so...it still counts, right?
> 
> Anyways I hope you enjoy it! (please let me know of any grammar/spelling mistakes)

When Stiles got his job at Espress Hangar, the new space-themed café, the pack was immediately on board.

“Oh thank God!” Erica pulls him into a suffocating hug. “I had their Strawberry Starship drink the other day and I think I’m addicted, but they’re like five dollars a cup. Thanks, Stiles.”

“Um, what? Why are you thanking me?” Stiles asks warily.

Scott comes out from behind him with one of his tooth-rottingly sweet smiles and replies, “For all the free drinks you’ll give us,” like it’s obvious. Stiles frowns.

The thing is, it is kind of obvious. Stiles was planning on sneaking a few drinks for them here and there when they came to visit him. But now that they expect him to, he’s starting to reconsider.

“Guys, come on, this is Stiles’ job. You can’t take advantage of him like that,” interrupts Derek. Stiles grins at him and, you know what, maybe he will save a drink for him.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Jackson smirks.

If Stiles has any say in it, Jackson is going on the Do Not Serve list at the first opportunity.

***

After Stiles’ third morning rush that day, he can finally breathe during the lull that follows. He’s survived his first week at Espress Hangar, a feat much larger than he originally thought. Turns out waking up for work every morning at four o’clock is not as easy as _staying up_ until four o’clock on Wikipedia.

Stiles is wiping down the counters and humming _California Gurls_ to himself when the bell above the door chimes and Derek walks in. The next notes of the song get stuck in his throat and he freezes. Stiles shouldn’t be surprised, really. The rest of the pack have already been by to visit him, even Jackson. Of course, Boyd was the only person Stiles ended up giving a free drink to, much to their disappointment. So what if he had favorites? How could he not when Boyd was the one to get him ComiCon tickets?

Derek swaggers up to the counter Stiles is stationed behind, because that’s the only way Derek apparently knows how to walk. He’s wearing a maroon knitted sweater today that looks unfairly cozy. Stiles slaps his own hand down from reaching out and touching the fabric because that would be weird. Although slapping yourself might be weirder. Oh well.

“Hey,” says Derek wryly. A small smirk is tugging at his lips from witnessing Stiles’ hand malfunction. Stiles sighs at Derek’s voice. It’s soft and small, a low rumbly voice that Stiles has been hearing more and more when he talks with Derek.

“Hey,” Stiles says back, his own grin a little dopey. Yeah, Stiles has tried getting rid of his crush on Derek, multiple times, but after three years of cringing and stuttering, he’s come to terms that whatever he feels for Derek is here to stay.

Danny coughs behind Stiles and, oh yeah, he doesn’t work here alone. Oops. Derek ducks his head to hide his smile and Stiles feels a blush work its into his cheeks.

“What can we do for you today?” asks Danny. Stiles glares at him because _that’s his job_. Granted, he wasn’t doing it but…semantics.

Derek glances at Stiles again before murmuring, “Strawberry smoothie, please.”

“What?” Danny leans closer to Derek to hear him better but Stiles is already putting the order into his register.

“He said strawberry smoothie. You wanted that large, right big guy?” Derek nods minutely. “Did you want to add anything to that? Espresso shot? Any extra flavors? Bubbles? Fruit?”

Derek considers the list of syrup flavors on the board behind Stiles and Danny. Stiles takes the opportunity to take in his alpha. There are bruises under his eyes, but they seem lighter than the last time Stiles saw Derek. The last few weeks has had him more tired than usual. Though, Stiles supposes, having a coven of vampires trying to take over his territory probably isn’t the most relaxing environment.

“Um. Could I have bananas and lavender bubbles added to it?” At first he looks a bit sheepish when he asks, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. He quickly covers it up by sending a glare Stiles’ way, like he’s expecting to be laughed at. But as much as Stiles loves to irritate Derek, it’s no fun if Derek is actually hurt by it.

“Yeah buddy, of course,” Stiles says. Derek pays and Stiles gets started on making the drink, glancing at Derek between each motion like he might disappear as soon as Stiles stops looking.

Smoothies are Stiles’ favorite drink to make, mostly because they’re simple. He tries to find an opportunity to toss in the two semi-impressive bartending moves he learned online but they both require bottles and none of the ingredients used for smoothies are in bottles. Stiles sighs and resigns himself to pouring the lavender bubbles into Derek's cup with a wide flourish and winking at Derek where he's leaning uncomfortably against the wall, arms crossed protectively over his chest.

“So. How’s your 242 class?” Stiles shouts over the blender.

Derek gives him a pointed look like, _You’re really trying to hold conversation right now?_ Which, fair, but this is Stiles so Derek shrugs and says, “Rrrrrrrvvv gnhhh gnhhhhhnahh.”

Nope. That was the blender.

“Sorry, what was that?” Stiles asks with a completely straight face (i.e. a smug grin stretched ear to ear) once the smoothie is blended.

Derek spares him a flat look in response. “I don’t think they understand the concept of a final that’s worth twenty percent of your grade. No one shows up to my review sessions.”

Stiles lets out a noise close to an indignant squawk. _Why would no one want to spend time with Derek?_ Stiles has been making up excuses to be in the same room with him for years. Derek looks so genuinely perturbed that Stiles finds himself walking around the counter to place his hand on Derek’s shoulder. He releases a breath when Derek immediately relaxes under his hand and steps closer. His eyes close and he lets out a sigh, taking the comfort Stiles’ touch provides for a brief moment. When Derek opens his eyes again, he finds Stiles holding up his pink smoothie and giving him a private smile.

“Thanks,” says Derek.

Stiles expects Derek to leave when he takes the drink from him, but instead he turns around and surveys the room for a place to sit. He chooses a truly hideous granny chair in the corner. Far enough to be private yet close enough to keep an eye on Stiles. The chair is the only one that doesn’t fit the modern spaceship theme of the cafe. It's an oversize paisley-patterned granny chair with a crocheted blanket hanging over the back of it. Stiles thinks that it may have actually been left behind by the previous owners. Why the current owners kept it, he has no clue.

Danny was hired as one of the managers and works most of the shifts Stiles covers. Because there's still a lull after Derek orders, Danny decides to teach Stiles how to make their Mocha Moon latte. Stiles is kind of making a mess out of it, and rogue sprays of foam keep hitting Danny in the eye. The guy is unbelievably patient, which is probably why he got the job, and only wipes the foam away before going back to his instructions.

Stiles has been smiling like an idiot the whole time, distracted each time Derek huffs a laugh at his book – _Pride and Prejudice_ , of course, the guy is out to ruin him. His lips start hurting from the smile that’s stayed situated on his face since the moment Derek walked in, and Danny notices. He comes back from grabbing a towel to wipe up the mess on the counter.

“So… You and Derek, huh?” Danny’s apparently snuck up on Stiles while he was lost in his Derek-centered universe, because when he hears Danny’s voice in his ear he jumps a foot in the air.

“Would you– !” shouts Stiles, waving his hands around and making crazy eyes at his coworker. All it earns him is a raised eyebrow from Danny, which Stiles returns with an unimpressed look. Spending years conversing with Derek Hale’s caterpillar eyebrows kind of limits the effect any other pair has on him anymore. “No. There is no ‘Stiles and Derek’, we’re just Stiles and Derek. Okay? It’s not like that.”

Danny glances at where Derek is sitting in the corner and reading Jane Austen and back to where Stiles is trying and failing at not making googly eyes at Derek.

“Yeah, you’re a regular pair of heterosexuals,” Danny deadpans.

Stiles’ ears burn and he resolutely does _not_ look in Derek’s direction. _Oh God, he’s probably heard the whole conversation_. And yes, while Derek tries to give his pack their privacy, the cafe is small and Stiles hasn’t exactly mastered the art of whispering. A human could hear Stiles’ embarrassment. _Great_ , Stiles thinks,  _now Derek is going to feel awkward being there and leave_. He pouts for bit, thinking that he won’t be able to glance away from work to Derek whenever he wanted.

Thankfully, a small group of customers takes that moment to stream their way into the cafe and Stiles doesn’t have to think about it. He flicks his gaze towards Derek’s chair in the middle of the rush and releases a relieved sigh to see that the only movement Derek’s made is shifting his leg to rest on his other knee, leaning back in his chair. His eyes linger on Derek’s form, roving over his sleep rumpled hair – with _just_ enough of a quiff that Stiles knows he styled it – to where he’s holding a dog-eared copy of his favorite book. He’s tugged his sleeves down past his knuckles and Stiles realizes with a start that this is the sweater with thumbholes. Stiles’ breath catches in his throat because Derek is sitting there, in a plush chair fit for a grandmother, sipping from a pink smoothie with lavender bubbles, and reading Jane Austen with _sweater paws_. How is Stiles supposed to witness Derek so damn _soft_ without making a fool of himself? Stiles is pretty sure a whimper escapes his throat.

“Ahem,” the customer in front of Stiles clears her throat. Danny glares at Stiles, who currently has his eyes glazed over and drooping where they’re fixed on Derek, and elbows Stiles out of the way. He takes the customer’s order, and her complaints, before making her drink too. Honestly, there’s no wonder why Danny is the manager.

It takes the next customer in line tossing straws at Stiles’ face for him to jolt out of his reverie. Thanks, Allison. Stiles is pretty sure he hears Derek snort. He whips his head around looking for Danny and sees him busy already making four other drinks. Oops.

“Yes, sorry, hi." Stiles is rightfully chagrined. "What do you want, Allison? Ow – I mean – what can I do for you?” He glares at Danny and rubs at his chest before exaggeratedly slumping over to the espresso machine.

***

Derek stays for the rest of Stiles’ shift and when his smoothie runs out, Stiles makes him another before he has the chance to ask. Stiles keeps giving Derek skirting glances and every once in awhile Derek looks up and they just stare at each other. A small smile tugs at his lips each time he catches Stiles staring and it makes Stiles breath catch. Derek is going to be the end of him, he swears to God.

It’s close to closing time when Stiles comes over to where Derek is stationed and sits on the table across from him. Derek looks up from his copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ and his face warms into a smile that lights up his eyes when he sees Stiles with another strawberry and lavender smoothie. Stiles hopes absently that he hasn’t gotten sick of them.

“Thanks,” says Derek. “What’s my bill so far?”

“Oh. Um, it’s on the house,” Stiles struggles out, face going red as he rubs at his neck.

“Stiles. I’ve had five of these. That’s probably three hours out of your paycheck.”

Yikes. Well when he puts it like that, Stiles wants to cringe.

“It’s just two and a half, actually,” he mutters.

“Really, Stiles?” deadpans Derek. He’s doing that unimpressed eyebrow quirk that Stiles gets way too excited over whenever he sees. “At least let me make it up to you.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, already formulating an innuendo before he bites it back. Instead, he asks haltingly, “What...were you thinking, exactly?”

“Dinner?” Derek asks. Stiles takes a startled breath and his eyes search Derek’s. His face is suddenly solemn, the quiet amusement there from before gone. He swallows.

“Ye – yeah. Sure.” Stiles might be nodding like a bobblehead but thankfully no one points it out. Except Danny.

“Stiles! Come on, man. We’re not done closing.” Danny has his arms crossed and Stiles can tell that he’s trying hard to look intimidating – and compared to Derek, who’s soft around the edges and smiles easily at Stiles, he totally is – and adds with a smirk, “It’s not like you won’t see him again.”

Derek and Stiles share a look before Derek lays a hand on Stiles’ knee.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Stiles isn’t sure if he means right now or ever, but he knows he’s on board for either. His heart beats faster the longer he sits there looking into Derek’s eyes and Stiles knows he can hear it. Derek squeezes Stiles’ knee where his hand is _still resting_ , “Friday?”

“Hm?”

“Dinner? Friday?” Of course Derek is only speaking in one-worded responses. Though Stiles is used to it, he still sighs and rolls his eyes at Derek. But then Derek’s words sink in and –

“Oh! Oh. _Oh_ ,” Stiles lets out a nervous laugh, “Right. Um, is this...like a – I mean, not to be presumptuous but is this like a, you know, um – “

“Date? I mean, I’d like it to be. If you...want it to be?”

Stiles wheezes into what is meant to be an alluring smirk (but really ends up looking like a crazed grimace). His hands flail in the air like a maestro, tugging desperately at his stream of thoughts, catching a few to translate into words. What he ends up with is, “Ye-sheyahh.”

If the bright smile on Derek’s face is anything to go by, he understands.

***

When Stiles gets to Derek’s loft Friday night, he pauses outside the front door. He knows Derek can probably smell him or hear his heartbeat or whatever it is werewolves do with their freaky senses, but he needs a moment.

This is a _date_. Stiles has a date with Derek. Derek and Stiles are having a date _with each other_. It still doesn't make sense to Stiles but far be it for him to question a miracle when it lands in his lap. This is just a big deal for them. After three years of dancing around each other, of denying their feelings, of keeping to their sides of the line, they're actually doing this. His head keeps throwing these thoughts at him, and yet he isn’t nervous.

This feels natural, almost normal. Stiles and Derek have always been on a different plane from the rest of the pack, have always been more tactile with each other. This? This is just finally putting a name to it.

Stiles is raising his fist to knock on the door (and not barging in, this is a formal occasion thank you very much) when the door in front of Stiles opens with a rush of air, like it’s been yanked, and Derek appears. Derek looks flushed and quickly swipes a hand through his hair. He’s wearing his favorite Henley, Stiles knows it’s Derek’s favorite because he once made the mistake to joke that all Henleys were the same (apparently they were not). Stiles notices with glee that Derek’s rolled his sleeves up to reveal the sinewy strength in his forearms.

“Hey,” Derek breathes out. “You’re early...and have groceries?”

“Yep!” Stiles hipchecks Derek out of the way to enter the apartment and carries the groceries over to the counter. “I thought I could help you make dinner. Unless,” he makes a vague gesture with his hands to the room at large. A frown tugs at his lips and he starts worrying that he somehow misread things.

“No, no, yeah, we can do that. I was thinking of making eggplant parmesan, but what were you thinking?” asks Derek.

“Ooooooooh,” Stiles licks his lips. “Oh dude that sounds way better than my rice pilaf.”

“I love your rice pilaf,” objects Derek. He looks like he’s ready to go to battle to defend Stiles’ honor or something. Stiles beams because it’s honestly way too adorable for him to bare. He steps toward him and ruffles Derek’s hair as he passes him in the kitchen.

“Both, then? Parm and pilaf?” Stiles drops his voice when he gets close to Derek again, deep into his space, and looks at Derek with a slight glimmer in his eyes. “I mean, it’s got alliteration going for it.”

Derek nods, unable to break away from Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles puts him on chopping duty, which is honestly most of the work if he’s being honest, and prepares the sauce. Their workstations are next to each other and their arms brush every so often. Stiles relishes in every flutter of skin, when Derek’s coarse – _Yet soft? Somehow? How does he do that?_ Stiles wonders – arm hair tickles his own. Derek turns to grab something from the fridge and when he does, his fingers leave a trail of shivers on Stiles’ hip.

It’s torture. Sweet, agonizing, wondrous torture. By the time their dinner is ready, Stiles is blessed with the image of Derek’s flushed face and a glimpse of his belly when Derek uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe at his brow. It shouldn’t affect him as much as it does, Stiles has seen Derek shirtless countless times when the pack trains together. But this is different, this is just for Stiles.

They spend dinner conversing over Batman and Superman (and their totally canonical love story). Stiles loses his breath each time he pulls a boisterous laugh out of Derek, and drops his fork to just gaze at him. Happy is a good look on Derek.

***

It feels like they’ve only just sat down when their plates are empty. Stiles glances at his watch to see that it’s actually been hours.

“I’ll get the dishes,” says Derek.

“I’ll help,” Stiles jumps out of his chair at the table and, together, he and Derek bring the plates to the sink. Stiles leans back on the counter and watches Derek scrub the dishes in soapy water, mesmerized by his burly arms and soft hands and nimble fingers.

Before Stiles knows what he’s doing, he has Derek caged between his arms against the kitchen sink. His breath comes out strained and each pull from his lungs presses his chest to Derek’s back. Derek stills his movements in the sink and steps infinitesimally back into Stiles’ embrace.

“Stiles,” he breathes.

Stiles takes the last step forward to press their bodies fully together. He wraps his arms around Derek’s midsection to hold him tight, taking deep breaths of pine, rain, and something inexplicably _Derek_.

Derek is usually relaxed around Stiles. A smile is always quick to appear at his lips and his eyes become heavy-lidded in what can only be called tranquility. But Stiles has never seen Derek quite like this. It’s like all the tension that’s wound its way deep into his bones has suddenly melted, leaving Stiles to catch what little of Derek’s weight that remains.

They stand like that for a while, long enough for Stiles to lose track of the minutes. Derek’s head lay nestled back into the crook between Stiles’ shoulder and neck. Stiles might think that he’s fallen asleep if not for the sporadic deep inhales of Stiles’ scent and the flutters of his fingertips where they lay on Stiles’ hips.

Stiles shifts his head just enough to press his lips to Derek’s neck, just under his ear.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Come here,” says Stiles. Derek huffs a laugh.

“Stiles, I don’t know how much further ‘here’ I could be.” Which, point taken.

Except Stiles never gives up that easily. Instead, he groans in mild frustration and turns Derek around himself. He’s basically manhandling him, but Derek only smirks and lets him.

“There,” says Stiles. They’re standing chest to chest now, faces mere inches away from each other. Stiles is sure he’s cross-eyed when he looks into Derek’s eyes, but he can’t seem to pull away.

“Hi,” Derek says softly. His eyes hold a gentle spark and Stiles’ lips tug up to mirror the fond smile grazing Derek’s face.

“Hi,” he says back. Their noses are touching and Stiles just wants to feel Derek’s face against his own. Not even a kiss, he just wants to feel Derek’s stubbled cheek resting right beside his own. God, he’s a sap.

Derek leans forward a sliver more and when he speaks next, their lips brush together and Stiles breathes in Derek’s exhale. “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

And he does. Stiles takes Derek’s jaw firmly between his palms and kisses him. It starts out chaste. After all, even though they’ve been on the edge of _something_ for years, this is still Derek, and like hell Stiles is going to mess this up by going too fast.

Derek relaxes into the touch, a whoosh of breath from his nostrils tickling the corner of Stiles’ lips. He tilts his head to the side and leaves his neck vulnerable to Stiles. Stiles chokes back the swell of emotion the movement causes in him, because he knows that Derek is trusting him with his most sensitive part. Where all his instincts cry for shields and armor, Derek is showing his weakness. Stiles moves his hand to wrap around Derek’s neck protectively. He isn’t going to let that trust be misplaced.

Derek trusts Stiles, believes in Stiles, and for the first time in years, he feels safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check me out on [tumblr](http://tiedtogetherwithadagger.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
